


At the Still Point of Destruction

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-15
Updated: 2009-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:28:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28038444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: "You're my big brother, and I believed you when you said you could do anything."
Kudos: 10





	At the Still Point of Destruction

Sam isn't sure what he'd expected the apocalypse to look like--an army of demons facing off against a host of angels, maybe, like something out of Lord of the Rings\--but him and Dean in Stull Cemetery with Ruby's knife isn't it.

He knows there are demons out there, and angels fighting them, a black cloud out on the horizon. He can hear it like the faint buzz of a poorly tuned radio in the back of his mind, like he can feel Lucifer's power humming under his skin, aching to be set free. He wonders if his eyes are flashing yellow, or if there's some special color for someone like him. For someone like Lucifer.

"Come on, Dean," he says, and it sounds like a taunt even though he doesn't mean it that way. "You have a destiny to fulfill." He spreads his arms wide, leaves himself open to the killing blow he knows Dean won't take. On some level, beneath the desperation and anger, he feels like a moron, like he's misquoting Star Wars or something.

Dean lowers the knife, haunted look in his eyes. "No."

"Dean--"

Dean shakes his head. "No, Sam. I can't. I can't do it."

"The world is going to end if you don't."

Dean shrugs and lowers himself to the ground, setting his back against a listing tombstone. "Then let it end. If this is what it takes to keep it going, I don't want to live in it, anyway." His hands dangle between his bent knees, his fingers wrapped loosely around the hilt of the knife. Sam could take it from him easily--could pin him in place and make the knife jump into his own hand. His palm itches for it, and he clenches his fist against the sensation, against the déjà vu, though this time, he's the one who needs killing.

Sam takes a step forward, and then another, looming over his brother in a way that never fails to give him a thrill, which this time is edged with a darker, more dangerous excitement. Dean looks up and bares the long line of his throat, an unspoken invitation that Sam doesn't want and won't take. He falls to his knees, reaches out a hand and then lets it drop to the damp grass, not trusting himself.

"You promised."

Dean closes his eyes, scrubs the hand not holding the knife over his face. "Sam--"

"Dean, you _promised_ ," he repeats, putting every ounce of aggrieved and disappointed little brother he has into it.

"I've done everything you've ever asked," Dean says; the defeat in his voice is heartbreaking and terrifying, and even though Sam would like to dispute the statement, he's pretty sure now is not the time. "Don't ask me to do this."

Sam sits back on his heels and closes his eyes. Bad idea--the clamor in his blood is louder then, an insistent pulse beating against his will. "If you don't, billions of people are going to die."

Dean gives him a disgusted look. "Do you think I don't know that?"

"Then what are you just sitting there for? The Dean I know--"

"I'm not the Dean you know, Sam. Don't you get it? Not anymore. Not since--" He looks away, jaw working soundlessly.

Sam forces himself to breathe, to stay calm, to ignore the wild sense of triumph rising in him. "The thing is, Dean, that either way, I'm gone."

"What?" Dean looks startled at that. "No. You're gonna be king of the demon geeks."  
  
Sam shakes his head. "We have two options right now--you kill me or Lucifer possesses me. Either way, I cease to exist." He swallows hard, shifts until his legs are stretched out in front of him, and bumps Dean's shoulder with his own. "I'd really rather not get possessed by Lucifer, you know?" He takes a deep breath. "You've tried to save me from everything else, Dean, and now I need you to save me from this."

It's Dean's turn to shake his head. "I can't, Sammy. I _can't_."

"Can't?" Sam says. "That's bullshit. How many times did you teach me something I swore I couldn't do? You taught me to tie my shoes, to ride a bike, to solve for X. You taught me how to drive, how to talk to girls, and how to hit a moving target from thirty yards away." His voice breaks, and he has to bite his lip and blink back the tears that are starting to sting behind his eyes. "So don't tell me you can't do something. You're my big brother, and I believed you when you said you could do anything."

"Sam, please--"

"No. No. If you're gonna let the world end, you can deal with a little awkwardness first."

Sam can see Dean's hand tighten on the knife, the skin of his knuckles taut and pale with tension, dirt worked into the grooves.

"You know if I do this, I'm offing myself right after." His voice is low and hoarse, and when he finally meets Sam's gaze, his eyes are bright with unshed tears

Sam nods and swallows hard past the lump in his throat, the ache in his chest. He knows better than to fight with Dean about that. "Yeah." It's little more than a whisper.

"This is some fucked up bullshit, Sammy."

That startles a laugh out of Sam. He shakes his head. "Yeah." The pressure is building inside of him, the whispering rush of power in his blood rising to a low murmur of denial, of repudiation, as Dean turns towards him, knife in hand, his other hand cupping the back of Sam's neck. Sam ignores the clamoring--he's always been good at only hearing what he wants to hear--and tips his head back, mirror image of Dean's earlier invitation. "It's okay," he says, reaching out and taking Dean's hand. "It's gonna be okay."

Dean raises the knife, and Sam can see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows hard. "I gotcha, Sammy," he says.

Sam closes his eyes, hoping to make it a little easier on both of them, and braces himself.

"Don't lay a hand on him, Dean."

Sam opens his eyes to see Anna standing over them, glowing with power. He waits for the righteous smiting or the taunts (he's still not sure whose side she's on), but she cups Dean's cheek, puts her other hand on Sam's shoulder. The angry buzz in his head calms, dissipates.

"Your willingness to sacrifice, to be sacrificed, is enough."

"What?" Sam says as they both scramble to their feet, shaking off her hands.

"Are you kidding me?" Dean asks, glaring at her. "What the fuck is that?"

"The final seal. It required a sacrifice." She touches them again gently. "In your willingness to lay down your life for the world, you've won this fight." Sam blinks and decides not to think too hard about the implications of that. Anna nods towards the black cloud hovering on the horizon. "I need to get back to that one." There's a rustling of wings and she's gone, and with her, the weird electricity in the air and the jangling of Sam's nerves, strung tighter than high-voltage wire. It's just them now, and Sam thinks he's going to throw up.

"That is some fucked up bullshit," Dean repeats, anger warring with awe in his voice. "Let's get the hell out of here before someone calls do-over."

Sam laughs a little breathless, edging into hysteria. "I don't think it works like that."

"You wanna stick around and find out?"

"Not so much, no."

Dean sheathes the knife and they start walking back to the car, their steps falling naturally into the same rhythm. "So, uh, did you mean all that, uh, stuff you said?" he asks. He glances over at Sam and then looks away before Sam can gauge his expression.

Sam smiles, feeling a tight ache in his chest. "Every word."

Dean's answering smile is bright enough to light the sun. "We saved the world, Sammy. I think that calls for pie."

Sam lets his shoulder bump against Dean's. "Sounds like a plan to me."

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Sting.


End file.
